


Hot Blooded

by Laerima



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, Drugs, Other, Purgatory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 22:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laerima/pseuds/Laerima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Dean chooses drugs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Blooded

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Dean comes back from purgatory in season 8.

Ever since Hell had decided to drop Dean back off at Earth, Dean hadn’t been the same. The smell of dirt and worms had been permanently etched into his mind during his four month visit, and drowning himself in whiskey didn’t help take it away. It didn’t take away his memories either. So, his first instinct was to find Sam. Sam could rip Dean apart from the insides and put him back together again. No, not perfectly, but it was damn well near to it. Wherever Sam was, Dean was at home. But now? It was different. He couldn’t look at his brother without feeling guilty about what went on in Hell. The things he did? Dean would never tell.

Swallowing every bit of self-pity and guilt his body could offer, Dean decided to go in a different direction. If whiskey or alcohol didn’t help him, then what about smoking? The first day he tried it, Dean could tell it wasn’t going to work. It only made him relax, but it didn’t stop his mind from venturing back to the pit. The first two weeks were like this for Dean, trying things like driving around in his Impala, getting piss drunk, putting all of his aggression into his hunting, and having tons of sex, but none of it worked. It wasn’t until the third week when he was walking out from a bar that he noticed a man in an alley way, and by the smell of it, Dean knew exactly what he was doing.

He tried smoking weed that night, and he ended up laughing and having fun with a total stranger. Dean grabbed his number and with that in his jacket pocket, he went back to the motel and fell asleep. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t have nightmares. 

Happy with the result of what drugs could do, Dean decided to meet up with the man every night. He told Sam he was going to bars to hook up with women to keep him away from what he was really doing. After a while of that, however, Dean found himself go back to how he was before. The stranger, whom was now referred to as Chase, told Dean to try injecting cocaine instead. A bit weary, Dean waited and thought about the option before calling someone.

Tonight was the night that Dean finally made that call. Sam was out doing god knows what— Dean didn’t care. They had a fight and he knew the princess needed her space. In about an hour, Dean had the needle and drug in his hands in exchange for the bit of cash he had. Usually Sam carried the money, and with that Dean could only afford so much. With the door shut and blinds closed, Dean made his way to the bathroom and tried to remember what Chase told him. First, breathe. He wasn’t going to go anywhere with the motel door locked, and he would probably be on the ground in mere minutes. Secondly, put the rubber band around his arm. The rest was crystal clear from there.

At least, that’s what Dean thought. He missed his vein the first time he tried. Pissed off, Dean gripped the rubber band tighter around his arm, slapped it a couple of times before finally hitting the gold. He huffed, teeth gritting against the end of the rubber as he slowly pushed the drug into his body.

The first thing Dean did was look at himself in the mirror and laugh. Fuck, he looked like he was some crazed homeless person looking for a fix with his hair messed up and clothes ratted. But, wasn’t that exactly what he was? Slamming the empty needle and band into the sink, Dean kept his hands on the edge of the sink and gripped it. Watching his pupils dilate in a way they had never been before, Dean started to wonder what he had done. Maybe he took too much, or maybe it was just his mind starting to freak out. Whatever it was, Dean soon started to throw whatever he could find. He finally let go.

After about twenty minutes of Dean throwing, hitting and cussing at things, Dean found himself in the corner of the bathroom. The thoughts came into his mind like a truck had just hit him. That’s when the scratches began. He wanted to get whatever he had put inside of himself, out. It took him a long time to figure out what it was in his veins, and that he couldn’t turn back. He had to ride it out. Sliding back against the bathtub, Dean laid there as images of Hell danced in front of him. So, he closed his eyes and tried to get rid of it, as if he were invisible to the nightmares in front of his body.


End file.
